Fartemit Owl
by Doctor Kaminari
Summary: This is possibly the most random parody you will ever read. In this story you will find: perverted child genii, fat Scottish informants, a conference room the length of a football pitch, and a butler named Buttleg. Well, what are you waiting for?
1. Prologue

There's probably been hundreds of parodies for Artemis Fowl, but I decided to put one in anyway. To kill time. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Artemis Fowl, characters, names, blah di blah di blah. But I _do _own this parody. Muhahahaha!**

**STAY BACK, SLIMEBALL.**

**YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU'RE TALKING TO, I ASSURE YOU. YOU KNOW, I DON'T THINK YOU SHOULD FIND OUT. WHADDYA SAY?**

**Ten-year old Fartemit Owl is a billionaire, a genius (well, okay, he drinks tea mixed with coke, but that's force of habit), a regular target for bullies – and, above all, a criminal mastermind (whose plans always fail, but he still is clever). But even Fartemit doesn't know what he's taken on when he kidnaps a fairy, Inspector Brolly Tall (43) of the ELF (The Elementary Lavatory Federation). These aren't the fairies of bedtime stories – they're dangerous (dangerous_ly smelly_)! Lacking unexpected twists and turns, _Fartemit Owl_ isn't a riveting, magical adventure (more like a boring, half-rotten story for children aged 7-20).**

"**An old cliché of a thriller fairy tale that just won't grab your interest, no matter what your age."**

**-- _The New York Past_**

**If you were expecting some kind of code, I apologize. Making codes up are just so tedious, so I couldn't be bothered. Enjoy! **

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**Prologue**

**Why should one care about Fartemit Owl? Well, unless it concerned you, you shouldn't. Anyway, many professors, doctors, psychiatrists and even an African witch doctor tried to explain just how far Fartemit's intelligence stretches. There is only one man who can, and he, unfortunately, is well, um, buried 2 metres underground. That was around four or five years ago. **

**There is no question about Fartemit's cleverness. He rips through every test thrown at him like a hungry, rabid tiger would, if there was a kilometre long piece of beef staring at him. But why would anyone whose brain is the size of Jupiter indulge himself into criminal-ish activities?**

**Perhaps the best way to visualise Fartemit and his intelligence is to read about one of his infamous (and one of his rare successful) crimes. I have put together this report from second-hand interviews with the victim's sons and daughters, and as the thing unfolds, you'll understand just how vague their memory was. **

**The story began ten years ago in the dawn of the 21st century. Fartemit Owl had devised a plan to restore his family's fortune. A plan that could bring down civilizations faster then a card pyramid in an opera house, and cause the planet to turn on the emergency SOS machine. Namely, a sort of pointless war where nobody knows what's happening!**

**He was ten years old at the time.........**

Well? How did you like it? Send me your comments via Review! Thanks!


	2. Upyure Arse

I have completely changed the whole chapter!! Muhahahahaha!

Some answers to my reviewers:

charliegirl2: Happy now?  
  
TrunkZy: Do you get it now?

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Disclaimer: I own Fartemit Owl, characters names (except for the countries and cars) and the whole lot! Yeah!

Chapter 1: Upyure Arse

Niggeria (sorry, Nigeria) in the summer. Unless you want to get serious sunburn, don't go there. Needless to say, Fartemit Owl wouldn't have even thought of coming here, even for a holiday, if something awfully interesting hadn't been for grabs. Important to _that sort of thing with schedules and objectives_. He was sitting outside a café that was in shambles, watching a bunch of ugly teenagers running round in circles, for no point whatsoever.

Sun didn't suit Fartemit. He didn't look good in it. The doctors had said that there was something wrong with his skin when the sun's rays hit it. He replied that they were a bunch of idiots, although they were right. It caused a rash, all red and ugly. Hours in front of either a TV screen watching science lectures and Cartoon Network®, or a computer screen putting in some comments into some chat rooms (for professors) and looking at naughty pictures he wasn't meant to look at had, er, wiped his face clean, so to speak. He was as pale and white as a golf ball and one that just wouldn't fly far in the sunshine.

"I really hope this isn't another damn false alarm again, Buttleg," he muttered, his voice sharp and, well, to say the truth, childish. "Especially after Afghanistan"

He could have put in a way that sounded much worse. They had travelled to Afghanistan on the word of Buttleg's mystery informant, who had turned out to be Osama Bin Ladin in disguise trying to get some money. Fartemit had been nearly scratched.

"No, dumbass. Upyure is a good man, if not a very dangerous, murderous, good man."

"Riiight," stretched Fartemit, pretty much annoyed. He continued playing with his Gameboy©.

Anybody who had just heard the short conversation wouldn't have given a damn that the man-mountain had referred to the boy as _dumbass_. This was, after all, the modern times. Everybody called each other rude things.

Upyure was late at least half an hour, and the tiny drink in front of him wasn't making Fartemit hyper as usual. Even the Gameboy© couldn't cheer him up. But his doctors had given him ACME HYPER-LESS PILLS©, and no matter how much sugar he took, he couldn't become hyper.This was becoming increasingly stupid, and Fartemit was on the verge of the giving up.

An obese waiter swaggered to the table. His smile was carefree and happy, and his belly bounced up and down every time he walked forward.

"Moore tea, soors?" he asked, his voice sounding suspiciously Scottish.

Fartemit noticed everything above, and sighed, then said, "Don't give me your ass-trocious acting, and sit down without breaking the chair. Or at least try."

The waiter turned with exaggerated ignorance to Buttleg. Buttleg was, after all, the man-mountain (adult).

"Buut soor, Oim the weeter."

Fartemit threw his tiny cup at the obviously false waiter for attention. It ruined the man's shirt, and it must have hurt too, for he shouted "oooch!"

"You are wearing designer trainers, a huge silk T-shirt, and a ring in the shape of bagpipes. Your accent is very much Scottish, and your nails smell of recently eaten haggis. You are our guide Upyure Arse, and you decided to wear that stupid, idiotic, and pathetic disguise to check us for god-knows-what. Oh, and by the way, where did you get the haggis in this country?"

"Well, blee me doon. Yuur a clever littl' bloighter, aran't ye," said the Scotsman, Upyure Arse. He sort of squeezed into the tiny chair, nearly popping the armrests and the legs in the process. "Ooh, and thees wee littl' haggisy beet I goot froom mi antei!"

Upyure was correct for trying to check for god-knows-what, for Buttleg had a triple-barrelled silenced 75/second slugger in his suitcase, two tiny guns, just like the one in Men In Black, shoved down his pants, some unusually strong cotton wool string in his fake Rolex watch, and three extremely effectively strong stink-bombs in various pockets. He also had a bar of soap and his socks to make a crude swinger-banger.

"Let me just inform you about our luggage. I am unarmed except for my self-destructive Gameboy©, which at the touch of the buttons in the sequence ABAB START B SELECT ABA, will explode in ten seconds. The power of the explosion is so great, that some dust will blow about. Of course, it's perfectly useless, but it's nice to know you have something to protect you. In a way. Buttleg, however, is much more thoroughly armed, but I won't bother going through everything, otherwise we'd be here next year. And don't worry, Mr. Arse. Only one shall be used on you."

Upyure was looking annoyingly relaxed, but inside, he was quivering like jelly-o. He wasn't really full of relief when he heard Fartemit's little speech.

But worse still, the Scotsman was especially freaked out of Fartemit's level of vocabulary. A small, pale, ten-year-old kid talking like a damn professor from some foreign university. Upyure had heard the name Owl before – who hadn't in the international animal community? – but he was expecting some hairy, ugly, filthy-rich-looking adult, who, of course, was Fartemit Owl senior, not this kid. But 'kid' didn't sound right, considering Fartemit's vocabulary. And that butler, Buttleg. It was pretty obvious to think that with those massive hands, he could scrunch a rather unlucky can of beer between his thumb and first finger.

"So let's get on with it," said Fartemit, indicating something to Buttleg. Buttleg took out something huge from his suitcase. It was a strange looking object with a lens at the front. Of course, this was a filming camera, but Upyure had never see one before, for some jack-assed reason. "You answered our newspaper advertisement."

Upyure nodded, taking out the advertisement out of his pocket. He started to lick his fingers, a habit caused when nervous. Fartemit was disgusted. But he tried to cover it up, by looking at his own, bitten nails.

"Yee, I noo whear 't iis. Doown the rood, tuurrn riit, goo throo the ootematic duors, aend shees thear." whispered Upyure. He then took out a photo of a smooth, sleek hand that could have belonged to a supermodel. Fartemit's heart started to beat faster. This hand looked very much like Helen Arlington, one of the many, young, hot, women he had 'seen' on the Internet. Just looking at that hand gave him an erection.

"Right, yeah," whispered Fartemit, "explain."

"Thiis woman, oor goorl, foor sh' only looks seventeen, boot she's been har foor 24 yeers. She's a cashier oot the looca' supermarkit. She's the smoolest goorl I've evoor leed me ees oon. As tool as me thise goo, ye'see." He pointed at his thighs for emphasis.

Fartemit half murmured. He was three-quarters asleep. Buttleg gave him a little nudge with his massive, tennis-racquet-thickness finger on his employer's side. Fartemit immediately awoke, saying something incomprehensible (something like, "Oh, what the fin' s was that?"), and then becoming himself again. He silently approved. The not ageing, and the lack of height. He stood, pulling the creasing out of his Spiderman 2© t-shirt.

"Very well, Mr. Arse. Lead on." said Fartemit. Buttleg immediately stood.

Upyure remained seated. He sat there, annoyingly smug, in his nearly wrecked chair. Fartemit was thoroughly irritated.

"I eent gooin'. Infoomation oonly. That's what ye said." Upyure said, with that ignorant grin on his face.

Buttleg stepped behind their informant, and using both of his massive hands, he picked Upyure off the chair and onto his feet. It was quite an effort, for it took two minutes. Upyure was considerably surprised, and fell on his butt.

"We make the decisions, Mr. Arse. And we want you to guide us." said Fartemit coolly. His gaze alone gave Upyure shivers. This kid was real creepy for a ten year-old.

Upyure got up, and was immediately steered to the car he was to drive. It was a MINI, like the one Mr. Bean® drove. Fartemit had insisted, 'The smallest car for three people', and it really was tiny. Upyure barely fit. He was bent double, and his seat was put right back to fit his feet. Buttleg's face was pressed against the window.

The streets were very much packed like sardines, and there was barely room for the car and the civilians. The MINI moved at unbearably slow rate, and Fartemit couldn't wait any longer. After fifteen unsuccessful attempts at over four different continents (Antarctica being one of them), could this be the answer he's been waiting for? Fartemit chuckled. _The answer he's been waiting for_. He'd said something religious, even though he didn't believe in something like God. That didn't happen everyday.

The people parted like Moses and his magic gone badly. The crowd was infinite, even the alleyways were full up. Beggars and pickpockets roamed around, looking for unguarded valuables. Cooks dropped god-knows-what into sizzling frying pans, teenagers looked bored out of their minds, but what caught Fartemit's attention was, well, let's just say the, um, _girls_. Catch my drift? In fact, all the men inside the car were looking at these _girls, _who were flashing their, urm, _wares_. Which was why they didn't here the screams of agony as the rolled over most of the people on the street. They had already done so even with their eyes on the road, so they ignored it.

Upyure was sweating so much, that the ventilation system and the air conditioner was useless against the smell. Fartemit was once again disgusted by this over-obese Scottish man. Fartemit and Buttleg held their nose for an entire journey of five minutes.

But not even the MINI© could go through the narrow alleyway in which they had to go through. They stopped the car, and got out (with some difficulty). The Nigerian air, still stale and smelly, was much better than Upyure's sweat. As soon as they had left the car and turned their backs to it, a teenage youth smashed the glass, hot-wired the engine, backed it off, and drove away, all under two minutes. Not a good start to the day.

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To be continued (after a few days)..........


	3. Tracking the Creature

Yes, ladies and gentlemen! The second chapter is up! Review it, before everyone loses interest.

To my reviewers:

loonygr90: I think so too! Har di har di har!

Caroline: Don't worry It was the story, and not the food. Oh, and please don't track me down. I value my privacy.

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Chapter 2. Tracking the creature

"It seems that we must proceed by foot, Mr. Arse. But do not try to run," said Fartemit, with a slyness of a drunk beggar (which isn't a lot), "or you shall get an extremely unpleasant feeling below your belt" He then immediately lost himself in a sea of giggles, ending up on the muddy ground. His clothes were ruined, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not yet, anyway.

"Weel, y'see, Mastuur Ool, I kinnae. Thees allewee is too than, eend urm stook!" said Upyure. It translates into: I can't. I'm stuck. And indeed he was. His belly was firmly wedged between both walls. People were starting to get annoyed, trying to see what the hold-up was (same as car traffic, basically).

Fartemit decided to free Upyure, but only because he wanted the information. He ordered Buttleg to push. And Buttleg did, or rather tried. He really did try. But the fat man wouldn't budge. Buttleg bounced straight back, crashing into the crowd. Upyure seemed to have felt nothing. _I must slash Buttleg's salary when I get back_, thought Fartemit. He then proceeded to plant his handy, pocketsize wedge between the wall and the Scotsman's belly. Using the laws of pivots, he pulled sharply, and Upyure became unstuck with a _plop_, and fell on Fartemit. Fartemit was thoroughly squashed, and not even the 'amazing' strength of Buttleg could get him up.

Fartemit was now starting to choke. Buttleg's efforts were efforts were wasted, and everybody around calmly proceeded to pick the wallets of the three foreigners in the commotion. Soon, only Fartemit had everything he had brought, for he was buried under the Scottish eater. Buttleg and Upyure were left with only their underpants. One of the pickpockets had even attempted to pinch Buttleg's manly parts for some strange concoction or another (female, of course), but that Buttleg would not allow under any circumstances. And he succeeded to save them, but instead his armpit hair was shaved off. _Why couldn't we have gone to Australia or something_, thought Buttleg irritably, as he tried for the umpteenth time to pull Upyure off Fartemit. He knew that if he didn't get the huge Scot off his employer, he would be licking the floors clean at the apartment. And the floor was covered with thick, rough carpet, and he wasn't going to like letting his tongue through the forest of snot and leftovers.

By now, Fartemit was near the last minutes of his life. If he weren't taken to a hospital fast, he wouldn't recover. But Upyure was presently snoring his head off, being no help whatsoever. And Buttleg had collapsed onto the ground, exhausted. When there seemed to be no hope left for the young prodigy, Upyure suddenly jumped up, and ran off like the wind, holding his parts. Buttleg crawled slowly to Fartemit, picked him up with agonizing slowness, and walked to the closest hospital.

After two hours of frantic walking, he finally reached a proper hospital. And amazingly, Fartemit was still alive. Doctors and nurses casually turned to the dirtied pair of Europeans. They didn't exactly rush to help them. But they eventually took Fartemit into their operating theatre, and worked on him.

Three weeks later, Fartemit regained consciousness. And after a mere two days, they were up again, and tracked down Upyure again. Apparently, he was just about to start packing his bags, when the pair burst into his apartment.He had been watching Cartoon Network, drinking a beer, and eating from a huge bar of milk chocolate when they grabbed him. And now the protesting and moaning tub of lard was leading Fartemit and Buttleg to the creature.

Upyure led them through an abandoned fire escape, and they arrived at a place that was totally out of place in the poor atmosphere. It was all shiny and clean, with automatic doors, and a neon sign saying, "Insanesbury's", no doubt trying to copy one of England's most successful supermarkets. Every few minutes, a group of children or teenagers (each one different of course, otherwise that would have been freaky) would rush out, carrying a whole load of food and drinks. _Soon, the supermarket will run out of supplies_, thought Fartemit. _We'd better go in before the supermarket closes,_ thought Buttleg. _Oi woonder whoot theer seelin'_, thought Upyure.

And so, with all these thoughts in mind, they walked in. Unfortunately, the automatic door system needed quite a bit of help, and it didn't open. Upyure walked straight into the door. Fartemit, not realising that the door wasn't wielding, swiftly moved to the side of Upyure, and also got a flattened nose. Buttleg, perhaps with the most common sense, smashed the glass, pulled the shards away, and let the two dimwits in. The two were still rubbing their noses when Buttleg's head made contact with the doorframe. The trio were given a lot of curious glances as they rubbed wherever the pain was. All three were muttering something along the lines of 'damn door' or '!?#$& doorway'.

Upyure led them to the lanes of cashiers, and approached the Insanesbury's ExpressLaneï½®. He pointed at the teenager there, reading a newspaper and smoking. On her nametag, it said; 'Ima Faerie'. Fartemit assumed she was not Nigerian. With a name like that, you probably came from the sky. Fartemit didn't know just how right he was.

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Don't despair. The next chapter will be coming soon, I guarantee it. 


	4. The Bra

Sorry about the title of the chapter. And the content. But does it matter? Naa!

To my reviewers:

TrunkZy: I'm sorry to say that Upyure will not be appearing anymore. So no more strange Scottish talk, and no more translations! Oh, and if you send another review like this, I may be forced to block you out!

The Freaky Angel of Fire: Not so hard with the whip! Oh, and for some strange reason, your review didn't come up on the front page. Sorry!

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Chapter 3. The _Br_ (Calendar)

Fartemit approached the cashier. She turned to him, butted out the cigarette, and spoke.

"Alright, what d'ya want? You ain't holdin' anythink, zo you must want somethin', huh? You'll have to pay ze moi" He stuck out her hand. Her accent was sort of American, with a tinge of Russian, even less of British, a miniscule of French, and none at all of German (if any readers were offended by that, feel free to put your thoughts in). All in all, it was sort of everywhere.

Something about this girl made Fartemit want to wet his pants, but he didn't dare say that to Buttleg or Upyure, or they would have been laughing wrecks in moments. So, instead, he pulled himself up to full height, which was about 120cm, and spoke with what he hoped was a firm, demanding voice. The voice that came out, however, was neither.

"Excuse me, but....." started Fartemit.

"No! I ain't talkin', till I see the dough!" interrupted the girl. She was a tedious female, everybody knew. But Fartemit would not give up.

"Very well. Buttleg, my wallet" He stuck out his hand with out looking backwards. After a few minutes, he turned around, very much annoyed. The cashier was giggling. He had not been given his wallet.

He saw Buttleg on the floor, sucking on his thumb, crying quietly, with his knees up to his chest. He also realized, for the first time, that Buttleg was wearing practically nothing except for his underpants. This particular pair was especially ugly, with pink elephants with wings floating around in a random pattern. The colour of the underpants itself was bright yellow, and the stitching had become quite undone and frayed. You don't want to know anymore. Honestly.

And finally, he realized that he had his wallet in his own pocket, which would explain why Buttleg was pointing at Fartemit's back pocket. Fartemit muttered something inaudible to himself, and took out his wallet. It was a Quiksilver©, although on the front it said, 'Quicsiver'. And yet, Fartemit didn't realize it was fake. I doubt he ever will. Anyway, back to the story. From his wallet, he took out a brand new, recently printed £5 note, and handed it teasingly to the girl. With amazing speed, she grabbed it, and immediately started stroking it, whispering, _"my precious"_. It reminded Fartemit of a certain retard called Sollum, from one of his **Bored of the Rings** series. He'd only just started reading the middle. Fartemit smiled. The book had been funny. And also, the swiftness and the lust for money this certain young cashier had matched all descriptions perfectly.

"Buttleg, pay Mr. Arse in full. We don't want him leaking anything about our meeting," said Fartemit, his eyes shining with greed. "and if you do leak our information, Mr. Arse, Buttleg will kick your hairy backside to hell." Again, Fartemit fell into uncontrollable laughter. Everybody stared at him. The kids who were stealing from the shop were mesmerised by the curling and the turning of the obscenely rich boy. All the cashiers were frozen, some still holding their items over the laser reader. This meant that the same food was lasered over and over again, making the customer pay around ten times more than they should.

Buttleg tapped his employer's shoulder with huge fingers, and whispered into his ears. Fartemit nodded with annoyance, and took out his own wallet. He handed Upyure another brand new US$100,000 bill. It was purple, with Fartemit's face printed on both sides. It was obviously fake, but Upyure took it anyway, because it had a number with more than two zeros on it. He skipped out of the market with the (fake) banknote firmly wedged between his fingers. Once outside, every pickpocket pounced onto him, trying to take the banknote.

Meanwhile, back in the supermarket, Fartemit decided to take another step forward. He went forward, tapped the cashier on the shoulder, and spoke quietly to her.

"Mademoiselle, now that I have your attention, I want you to give me something," he said, and the girl turned towards him, allowing him to carry on. "What I want is your _br" _

A shocked silence followed. The girl froze. She seemed to recognize what had been said. She put down the £5 note, and tensed herself.

She started slapping Fartemit with inhuman speed, screaming, "pervert!" and "eeew!" and "sicko!". Buttleg, who was supposed to be protecting him, had fallen asleep in the thick of the action. He was sleeping peacefully, sucking on his thumb, and curled up like a cat. He didn't even stir when the slapping started.

Fartemit tried to stop her. Pathetically. In between slaps, he would say, "No" slap "I didn't" slap "mean" slap "your" slap "undergarment!" thump She paused, unsure whether to carry on, and anyway, she had punched in the finale, and he was down on the ground, clutching both cheeks. Fartemit took this chance to speak.

"You're not a normal human, never mind a cashier! You're a sprite (_although I'd prefer coke_, thought Fartemit), _le'shãg_ (how did he say that?)fairy, _ka-splatun_. Whatever language you prefer, and I'm asking for your _br_, your calendar. It has all your silly dates and customs, and I can learn your secrets, and cause a cross-species war!! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Mwua-ha-ha-ha-ha!!" This maniacal laughing continued for quite a bit of time. When it finally died down, the cashier peered inside her own bra (the undergarment), and pulled out a 365-day bow calendar, shaped like you-know-what. Her chest immediately deflated. She handed it over to Fartemit, and said, "You paid moi a darn good fiver, so you can 'ave that if you want" she said, and walked away to the bathroom.

Fartemit looked at the calendar, stuffed it into his shirt, and stood up. He found Buttleg still sleeping on the floor, murmuring. He kicked him with all his strength, and his foot connected with Buttleg's solar plexus, making him yelp, and jump immediately. He saw Fartemit's irritated look, and bowed his head, trying to look sorry. It apparently pleased Fartemit, and together they walked out of the supermarket. They hadn't realized they had stepped over Upyure's still-squirming body, but they wouldn't have minded if they had. All the pickpockets were content for now, and the pair was safe. But they had to walk all the way to the airport, because their second MINI© had also been stolen. They made it just in time to see their aeroplane fly away. Now they were going to have to swim home. The evening air was filled with swearwords from both Fartemit and Buttleg, but the former was more experienced at swearing than the other.

If they had stayed a bit longer, they might have realized the same cashier come out of the bathroom. Her chest had become miraculously 'inflated' again. Guess what that means.

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You know, if you said _le' shág _really quickly, it sounds like..... OK, I won't go on. But I _will _go on with the story, don't worry. 


	5. Caught Asleep Again

The long-awaited next chapter of the Fartemit Owl Series. I'mbecoming more and more hyper as I write this. Enjoy!

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Chapter 4. Caught Asleep Again (The Chapter with The Deliberately Unusually Long Paragraph and A Lot of Private Comments by The Author)

Chief Inspector Augustus Smoot peered into the cubicle. Yes, there she was, asleep with her feet up on the desk. Her nametag read:

**Inspector Brolly Tall (Number 43)**

**The Elementary Lavatory Federation (ELF)**

**Service with A _Pong_!**

Inspector Brolly Tall was the five hundred and sixty-eighth female inspector of the ELF. Which wasn't really that impressive, really. I mean, Brolly wasn't really special in anyway at all, and I only put her in the story because there's supposed to be a counterpart for Holly Short. Even then… oh, forget it.

Smoot felt his rage rise up again. So he decided to look good this time when he went in. He loosened his tie, loosened his collar, rolled up his sleeves, and put on red face powder. He heard briefly as he burst in, "There he goes again. Pretending to burst his bubble."

"BROLLY TALL! WHAT ON EARTH'S NAME ARE YOU DOING?" screamed Smoot. Brolly barely stirred. Grudgingly, Smoot took out his **AmpliMaster 5000TM**, and switched it on. He flicked the volume to **Maximum Scream Power®**. With this baby, he could shout across the whole of the Grand Canyon, and anybody anywhere in the Canyon would hear it and burst their eardrums. It would also cause a dozen or so avalanches at the same time. Smoot had just started realizing that half of his staff were already deaf.

Smoot took a deep breath, shoved the machine right up to Brolly's ear, and screamed, "GET UP, YOU LOUSY GIT!!" Everybody in the office fell to the floor clutching his or her ears. Brolly jumped in her chair, and fell on her butt on the floor. And passed out.

A few hours later, Brolly came to, and instantly wished she hadn't. The blare of the amplifier was still in her ears.

"Oooooeeeeerrrraaaahhhh" she groaned very loudly. She opened her eyes, and saw Smoot staring at her with a contact lenses-aided red glare. _Here we go again_, thought Brolly. "INSPECTOR TALL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM FOUR HOURS AGO!" screamed Smoot into her ears. Brolly clutched her ears in pain again. As Brolly looked around, she realized she had been carried into the Conference Room. Presently, she was being stared at angrily by around a two dozen eyes belonging to important, arrogant, retarded dim-bluts seated around a big table shaped in the ELF logo (it's just plain '**ELF**' actually). This caused a very pressing issue when people absent-mindedly plunked their coffee mugs on mid-air, resulting in gravity doing its job and causing a stain on the carpet and the trousers or other garment that the previous owner wore. So the High Council had decided that the carpet would be brown from now on. That was how much they cared about the organization. Sad, isn't it. The important, arrogant, retarded dim-bluts were a collection of representatives, secretaries, high-ranking members, waitresses, ghosts, zombies, mystical creatures (such as centaurs, unicorns, and dragons), Jedi Master Yoda, the original Artemis Fowl, the original Captain Holly Short, the original Commander Julius Root, the original Mulch Diggums, the original Foaly the centaur, the original Butler, the original Juliet Butler, the original Opal Koboi, and a mannequin dressed in a tasteless suit (who has nothing to do with the original Artemis Fowl Series written by Eoin Colfer). There was also a three-headed genius called 'Triple-Cranium Whiz-Kid' or 'TCWK' or 'Tesedoboyokay' for short. Actually, this isn't very short at all (I mean, can you imagine eating dinner with the guy, and asking him, "Can you pass the salt, Tesedoboyokay?" That would be just plain _weird_, right?). Everybody preferred to keep their eyes away from him, because (a) all three of his heads were **unbelievably and incredibly **ugly, (b) he sort of smelt bad and (c) everybody knew there was something wrong with him, but they couldn't work it out, because they were important, arrogant, retarded dim-bluts. Oh my God, do you know how many times I mentioned "important, arrogant, retarded dim-bluts"? Thank the Lord for 'Copy' and 'Paste'. What, you thought I typed **everything**? Are you mad? Anyway, back to the story. Brolly sat up from the floor, and tried to remember why she was here. Then she remembered. Today was the day they decided whether to keep her, or kick her useless butt out of the building and onto the street. For the fifth time. You see, she had been kicked out four times, but she had changed her name and face, namely her identity, to get back in again over and over again. She had been Frolly Gall, Polly Hall, Rolly Jall, Wolly Ball, and now she was Brolly Tall. Her real name was (deep breath) Grolly-Frolly-Polly-Rolly-Wolly-Brolly (pause and another deep breath) Gall-Hall-Jall-Ball-Tall-Y'all (how long does it take her to sign her full name, I wonder. Snigger). All she had to do was cut a bit of her first name, stick it to a bit of her last name, and bingo! You've got a different identity. She had also been a gorgeous blonde, a butt-ugly brunette, a freckled redhead, a monk-like bald, and now she was a slightly pretty black-hair. She never changed her face, or her height, but nobody seemed to notice. If she was kicked out this time, she had decided to be Grolly Y'all, with spiky green hair. That would be decided if they kicked her out again. Which was 99.99 possible. _Ah well, as long as I'm not unemployed_, thought…er…let's call her Brolly. She got off the carpet and sat down. She didn't hear the scream of agony as she sat down on a miniscule humanoid elf. She wouldn't have minded anyway. Smoot, who had moved to the top of the table (on a motorcycle), stared at Brolly with his binoculars.

"Inspector Brolly Tall, Number 43, you have broken every rule we have been bothered to make, which is about three. We therefore sentence you to dangerous, exciting, life-threatening, and potentially world-saving missions from now on. Until you're fired, which isn't very close to today, don't worry. Do you have anything to say before we all go away and mind our own business?" asked Smoot.

"Uuum, yeah sure," said Brolly tentatively. "How many missions am I going to get every year?"

"Around four," answered Smoot briskly. "Anymore questions? No? Then get lost everybody. Free champagne in the Dining Hall!" said Smoot before Brolly could say anything else. He clicked a button, and everybody except Smoot and Brolly disintegrated into a purple cloud of smoke. He, like Brolly, hated meetings in the Conference Room, especially if he wasn't at the head of the table.

* * *

Nice, eh? 1,126 words all in one chapter. R&R! 


	6. The First World Saving Mission

Okay, I didn't do a To my reviewers thing for the last chapter, so I think I'll put it into here. Bare with me, yeah?

To my reviewers:

colourfulcrayons: Mwu-ha-ha-ha-ha! Now I have you in my grasp! Mwu-ha-ha-ha-ha! Sorry. All it means is you like this story too much. But keep reading it.

PeanutButterII: Umm... Yeah, you did review Chapter 2. twice... Anyway, do you get it now?

akino mikaera: Thank you very much! Tell the random guy that World'sDumbestNerd is coming to get him.

neutralgal: Oh dear. I've givena reader such a funny story that she's got a stomach ache. AH well, that's how good I am. Mwu-ha-ha-ha-ha!

PeanutButterII: Yeah, it might actually. Thank you for the e-mail, and rest assured. I was only kidding on the bio.

* * *

Chapter 5. The First Dangerous, Exciting, Life-Threatening, and Potentially World-Saving Mission (With Normal Length Paragraphs)

A few hours later, Brolly was called into Smoot's office. She had absolutely **no idea **what she was being called in for. At least, that's what she said. But she also added when I interviewed her that the incident had happened back in 2001, and that her memory had become quite 'tampered with'. You see, fairies age unbelievably fast mentally, and although some of them look not a day over 20, their mental age is around may be up to 130, depending on how the fairy used his or her brain. The less they used it, the more likely they got Alzheimer's disease.

When Brolly entered the room, Smoot seemed to be totally engrossed on what was happening on his computer screen, which was turned away from Brolly. He also seemed to be doing something under his desk.

As Brolly approached him, Smoot finally realized she was there, and immediately closed out what he had been looking at. His hands seemed to be covered with some white, sticky substance. He wiped his hands with a handkerchief, and turned to Brolly.

"It seems that we have a mission for you already, Brolly. A rogue mole seems to have escaped onto the surface. Yes, a mole. You've never gone against a mole, have you?" asked Smoot questioningly. Brolly nearly burst her britches from laughing. She was in mass hysterics. Wriggling on the floor, clutching her sides, she laughed and laughed while Smoot looked extremely embarrassed.

When Brolly was done (thirty minutes later), Smoot decided to continue. "This rogue mole has been terrorizing our tourists ever since he was born, by growing _incredibly _fast. He is part of the _Groweth Fastieth _Mole family, and they grow to their full extent in just ten hours. They live for around a week, then they age _incredibly_ fast and they die within an hour. Nice life for them.

"Anyway, this one is halfway through its short and miserable life, which means it's at its largest and most powerful state. He's the size of a good, comfortable sofa. He's currently nibbling on a few chair legs in an abandoned furniture store. But once he's done, he'll keep moving in until he's found a human dwelling, then he'll probably move onto the tender flesh of the humans. We need you to stop him eating too much of the humans. Yes, we're going to let him eat a few bits of meat from the human, because we all hate them, yeah?" Smoot waited for an answer. After five minutes of waiting, he realized Brolly had fallen asleep in the middle of his well-prepared, excellent explanatory speech. He walked up to Brolly, and shoved her off her chair. Then, he tweaked her buttocks rather hard, making her jump. _There we go, she's awake_, thought Smoot. _Maybe I should try this more often_. A few moments later, considering Brolly's reaction, he decided against it.

She got up, rubbed her palms, and then started slapping Smoot with extraordinary speed and strength, shouting, "pervert!" as she slapped him. This one of the few gifts that female fairies were given: **_slapping_**. They were the most talented slappers on (and under) the surface of the Earth. Smoot had no chance. He was also a bit of a wimp, and he passed out after just twenty slaps.

After waking up and apologizing to Brolly, Smoot decided to end the meeting immediately and to the point.

"Go to Gate 66613. Meet Moley. Make him give all the gadgets and gizmos you need. Get your ass on the surface and catch that mole!" Then he kicked her out of his office. Literally.

Brolly walked towards Gate 66613 rubbing her bruised and pinched behind. She reached there without incident, except for a curious dwarf who asked too many questions concerning classified information about the ELF. His name was Belch Gassums, and Brolly gave him a Maximum Level Electrical Zap from her **Thunderstick®**. He ran away, screaming for a bucket of water for his burning and smoldering butt. That made Brolly feel _a lot _better.

Brolly pushed through the double doors, and approached a centaur wearing bright pink goggles and clothes to match, working on his latest invention. It looked like a hairdryer and a thermometer rolled into one. He didn't seem to notice her at all, so Brolly walked up behind him and kicked him hard with the tip of her boot. The centaur yelped, turned and absent-mindedly fired in mid-air, disintegrating the head of some random guy carrying a coffee cup.

He took off his goggles and looked at Brolly, who was once again in mass hysterics.

"Brolly!" exclaimed the centaur. "Look what you made me do! Disintegrate another random guy's head, although I don't really care whether he's dead or not! Do you know how much this costs me?" asked her questioningly. Brolly looked up, smiling knowingly.

"Yes, I do, actually. I used to handle all the sums and money that went on here, especially concerning you. In total so far, you've used 25 sabongs (which is around US1¢) for damage caused by your inventions. All the rest of the budget goes to the building of your inventions, experiments, staff, equipment, and entertainment. Not a lot, I can say." said Brolly mischievously. The centaur looked taken aback and extremely pissed off. Brolly stifled a snigger.

"So, Moley," continued Brolly light-heartedly. "I'm going against a mole. What have you got for me?" Moley immediately cheered up. When his inventions were actually going to be useful, he always cheered up.

"So you're going against a mole, eh? Darn annoying creatures. Well, first of all you can take the gun," said Moley, and handed Brolly the head-disintegrator. "The head was disintegrated because the setting was on maximum. If I had put it on minimum, he would have scratched it as if it were an itch. There are one hundred levels, so unless you have slow fingers, you'll be fine. Now, another thing…" Moley pushed some things aside on his desk. After shuffling around a few things, he finally found what he was looking for. It looked like a pair of Gucci sunglasses. On closer inspection, it said Gaci, another popular brand under the surface. Above ground, it would probably be handled as a fake of Gucci.

Moley looked at it with admiration. "One of my favourites, this one," said Moley. "It looks like a pair of normal sunglasses, but it holds a binocular, mobile phone, hidden camera, x-ray filter, laser filter, infra-red lens, night-vision lens, 6000 watt light bulb embedded in lens, and lens colour-changer. The control buttons are on this watch." He took out a C-Shock watch, with around ten buttons on each side of the face, resulting in forty buttons. "One for every function," said Moley. "Including the lens illuminator, which looks cool at parties."

Brolly put the sunglasses on, her watch on her wrist, and the gun in her holster. She instantly felt absolutely ridiculous, but ready to take on, according to Smoot, a terrifying creature of surmountable strength. "Let's get you up on the surface then." said Moley brightly.

The centaur led Brolly to a launch pad with a hole in the ground. Brolly climbed into the mass of wires and controls. When she was comfortable (at least, comfortable enough to survive), she gave the thumbs up, and Moley flipped a switch. A great big equilateral trapezium-shaped box on a hinge with a viewing porthole at the top swung down and clamped itself firmly onto the pit, closing Brolly in completely. The box slowly rose. It was the shape of a coffin, with claws on extendable arms sticking out of both sides. Moley had designed it that way, "So that when some jackass dies in there, all we have to do is pull the arms off and voila! We can bury him or her then and there!" At least two hundred people who rode the thing had died and been buried in it. The design was a success.

Inside, Brolly flicked a switch, and the jet boosters underneath the coffin flared to life, and the whole thing flew directly upwards towards a hole in the ceiling. In a flash, Brolly was through and travelling in a tunnel towards the surface, where a retarded, unnaturally fast-ageing mole was waiting… (Well, actually, that's impossible, because he didn't know she was coming for him.)

* * *

No comment from the author, except R&R! 


	7. Back to the Criminal Mastermind

I bet everybody was wondering what happened to Fartemit while we were underground. Here it is now...

To my reviewers:

Elysium: Thank you. Just one thing: I'm not American. English isn't even my first language!

TheSpaminator: If you find it annoying, please read something else.

neutralgal: Hey, thanks!

* * *

Chapter 6. Back to the Criminal Mastermind

While Brolly was being rocketed to the surface, about to face a rogue mole, Fartemit had finally arrived at a port in Dublin, and had walked home with Buttleg. After a change of clothes, Buttleg returned to tending to the house, while Fartemit decided to check up on his mother.

Pinchalingum Owl was probably the most insane woman on Earth with the most insane first name. I mean, what sort of name is 'Pinchalingum'? Of course, if you've studied the Khmer Empire in Ancient History, you'll probably get the idea. Anyway, Fartemit walked straight into the elevator's glass wall, and for the fifteen-minute journey to his mother's holding cell, he swore about the bloody wall. Literally. His nose had spurted blood, and the glass wall was slick with his blood.

By the time he arrived at the holding cells of the Owl Family, his bleeding had stopped. _Another few kilometers of corridor to go_, thought Fartemit. He got into the waiting golf cart, and drove the cart down the perfectly straight corridor, with absolutely no obstacles whatsoever. But Fartemit managed to smash it into the concrete walls at least twenty times.

Finally, he arrived at holding cell Number 9/14/19/1/14/5. He got out of the scrap of metal that had been a cart, just before it collapsed. He walked over to the ID wall. He had to show his eye, press his thumb to a scanner, and state clearly the owner's favourite phrase. There was also a hidden camera measuring the dimensions of the person's body, to make sure that the person wasn't a freaky floating fairy from underground. They'd caught twenty-four intruders so far (who would want to break into the holding cell of a mad woman?).

Fartemit stepped onto the base, pressed his thumb to the eye scanner and his eye to the thumb scanner. He spoke clearly: _Ore wa eroy bakatare da_. (People who understand Japanese, try saying that aloud.) Fartemit had no idea what it meant, but he liked the sound of it. It's not hard to understand that he was, at heart, a flippin' retard.

At an agonizingly slow speed, the metre thick doors opened up, to reveal a huge glass cube, the size of a living room, where his mother resided inside, along with a bed, a desk, a computer (whose screensaver read, "You don't have to be **insane **to use this /?#!$&'! computer, but it helps". It has a picture of Hannibal Lecter in a restraining suit behind it), and a television. Pinchalingum was presently watching Popeye on the television, drinking from a mug of gin. She was wearing a bright yellow frock with holes where there had been flowers (Pinchalingum had cut them out), sunglasses, and a cowboy hat that said: _Hey, baby. You wanna sass?_ If you've read **The Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy**, you'll find the meaning of the word 'sass'. It's the last one.

The walls of the cube were actually a two-way mirror. All day, Pinchaligum Owl would sleep, watch television, surf the Internet, write and draw a few things, look at herself in the mirrors, or everything at once. To a casual passer-by, all they would have said about her would have been, 'a little eccentric'. But if you heard what she said, and what she did in the bathroom, the whole idea would change _immediately_.

Fartemit opened a porthole, enabling Pinchalingum to hear what her slightly more sane son had to say.

"Mother?" called Fartemit into the little circle. The woman's head spun faster than it was supposed to, and made her whole body spin after it, and smashed the television with her arms. Amazingly, she was unhurt.

"Oh, stupid f-----g old b---h of a computer! Why do you always have to f-----g disintegrate every f-----g time I smash my f-----g head into your f-----g screen?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?" screamed the woman. She kicked the broken, useless television. Fartemit slapped his forehead, and quietly cleared his throat. Pinchalingum slowly turned around dramatically, and suddenly burst into laughter. She had recognized her son. She ran towards him, arms outstretched, as if there wasn't a wall between them. Unfortunately, there was.

Pinchalingum rebounded from the wall with a sickening _thud_. Fartemit flinched, slapped his forehead, and sighed deeply.

He took the waiting clipboard from its hook, and took out the pencil from its groove. The sheet upon it looked like this:

* * *

Tuesday, March 23rd 2004 

Please circle the correct answer on the right-hand side:

Recognition: Yes / No / Unsure

Detection of Wall: Yes / No / Unsure

Consuming of Food & Drink: Yes / No / Unsure

Usage of Time for Leisure: Yes / No / Unsure

Usage of Time for Sleep: Yes / No / Unsure

Overall Insanity Level (1Sane, 10Insane): 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10

* * *

Fartemit circled 'yes' for Recognition, 'no' for Detection of Wall, 'unsure' for the rest, and '8' for Insanity Level. He was being _very _reasonable that day. 

He walked out of the vault, and, after thirty minutes of searching for transport, he shrugged, and decided to walk down the corridor. As he passed, he was aware of the labels above the doors: 'Cryogenics Pods', 'Alchemy Dept.', 'Emergency Sandwiches', and even 'Nuclear Warfare and Other Home Protection Experiments'. There were also a lot of craters on the walls, which Fartemit saw with disgust. _My, my_, he thought. _What sort of idiot would smash their transport to bits by smashing it into walls when it's perfectly straight with no obstacles? _

After another while, he reached the end of the corridor, got into the waiting elevator, and pressed the appropriate button. He also pressed other buttons to see where he ended up. This trip took another thirty minutes _more _than it should have.

Fartemit walked out of the elevator into the deserted lobby. He walked across it, and opened the door to his father's office. He found Buttleg, wearing a pair of **Spiderman 2 **underpants and his feet on the table, reading a copy of the Beano.

After shoving Buttleg through the window, Fartemit sat down, and found what he was looking for: the Brá. _Boy, getting this cost me a lot of pain, _thought Fartemit fondly. _But it was sure worth it_.

He opened it to unravel the secrets inside…

* * *

You know, for some strange reason, I've already done the last chapter _and _the prologue for the next Fartemit Owl story. Let me just tell you: both are extremely weird.


	8. The Incredibly Complicated Translation

The long awaited next chapter of the Fartemit Owl series. You know, waiting for the next chapters are really annoying, isn't it. Oops, I won't bother you any longer.

(**Author's Note: **In case you haven't read my bio lately, the prologue of the next Fartemit Owl story is now on line, in my Open Diary website under the name, My Artemis Fowl Parody or something. Enjoy.)

To my reviewers:

Spectra16: Why, thank you. You know, you could do with more staff in your C2...

PeanutButterII: Ask any good Japanese friend of yours and they'll look at you as if you're some retarded dumbass. No offense. Say, did you know there's going to be a new Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy movie coming out this year? Can't wait.

yellow reviews: Indeed, folks, laughter is the best medicine for _anything_!

RenegadeMustang(Lazy): I know. It's very encouraging, these sort of reviews. Not like some I could mention (glares at TheSpaminator)

TheSpaminator: Hmmm. A plot, eh? That might be hard...

The CheezHead: If it wasn't parallel enough to the story, would it still be a parody? I don't know. I can't think straight right now.

* * *

Chapter 7. The Incredibly Complicated Translation (And A Guest Appearance By A Well-Known Character!)

The calendar was blank. No words, no lines, just pages and pages of stark white pages. Fartemit looked at page after page, but couldn't find anything of use. He tried bashing it on the desk, stamping on it, crying on it, punching it, throwing it in the oven, drenching the thing in lemon juice, and yet, he couldn't find anything. No letters magically appeared in front of him.

Fartemit burst into tears, and cried very, very loudly. The sound echoed around the halls of the Owl residence. Soon, Buttleg's younger sister, Plopiet came rushing in. She was Miss Universe for five years running, she was a toned athlete, she was a martial arts master, and had the mental capacity the same size as Einstein. She taught, or rather tried to teach Fartemit tae-kwon-do, but to no avail; his eyes and mind were directed somewhere else. Her.

Anyway, she saw Fartemit junior crying, and instantly was at his side, trying to comfort him, and trying to find out what had made him cry. She cuddled him, and he instantly stopped.

"You're cuddling me," whispered Fartemit. "Can we go even further?" His comments were always like this (perverted), but Plopiet was always taken aback by this child's lack of morals.

Plopiet screamed, "_Peeeeerveeeert!!!_" She pushed away, rubbed her hands, and started slapping Fartemit as hard and as fast as Brolly. In fact, she would have probably come in the Top Ten Female Slapper List of The Year, if a human were ever allowed in the competition.

Soon, Fartemit was forced down under a barrage of slapping to the wall. ('Boy, is Fartemit inauspicious. He gets slapped quite a lot of times!' –Artemis Fowl the Second, exclusively from Fowl Manor) His face is as red as Commander Julius Root, and glowing like a dimmed light bulb. After a while, Plopiet paused to take a breather. Fartemit relaxed, and started to move across the room to the door. Plopiet spotted his extremely tiny movement, and pinned him by his neck, to the wall. With her other hand, she took out her **Mokia® **mobile phone, and speed dialed a number.

"_Hello?_" asked the person at the other end.

"Juliet? Hi! Look, can you come over _immediately_? Fartemit is being a real pain and… yeah? Great! Come over now!" replied Plopiet, and tucked her phone away.

Ten minutes later, in the middle of another slapping fury, Juliet Butler stepped into the room. For no reason whatsoever, the author had decided to include her, and her pockets were bulging with the author's bribe money. She took one look at the situation, and immediately took action. She took her place next to Plopiet, and started to slap Fartemit along side Plopiet, as furiously as her parodied counter-part. Soon, Fartemit was unconscious, and both women had stopped slapping the immobile child prodigy. Plopiet thanked Juliet, and waved goodbye as she walked out.

**- - - - -**

When Fartemit came to, he was placed on his father's desk, his butt squishing the fairy calendar. Suddenly, he felt a burst of gas, and gave the calendar a full blast of the Owl Fart Power (the OFP). He got off the desk, and just as he was about to run from the room, he found that symbols had suddenly appeared out of nowhere on the cover of the calendar. He quickly took the calendar, and dashed out of the room. Decontamination for the OFP usually took over three hours.

Fartemit examined the calendar once more, and found that it looked more like a computer screen, with a number of languages running down the side, and a scroll on the side. The scroll was tiny, and I mean _tiny_. Fartemit found a magnifying glass and a ballpoint pen, and started to scroll down the 'page'. Soon, he found the more human languages: French, Nigerian, German, Japanese, and finally, English. Fartemit also briefly saw strange languages such as Dumbnerdian, Sglorkafingo Beta Dingo's Fetid Underpantian, Nonsense, Squabble, and a lot of others. He used the pen, and pressed the link that said, **'Please Click Here For English, You Stinkin' Human'**. The calendar immediately glowed with a hundred words in English. Unbelievably, all the secrets of the fairies were laid out before a retarded ten year-old human.

He scrolled through the pages with amazement in his eyes. There were pages of information on culture, rituals, and even pictures of the previous Kings and Presidents of their underground home, Cave-in. There were manuals of gadgets, names of inventors, agents, commanders, and such. Top secret operations, foreign spies, it was all laid before him. Fartemit rubbed his hands, and gave an evil laugh. Time to plan disastrous and crazy plans for world domination that was bound to fail.

The laugh attracted Buttleg, who had been secretly watching Cartoon Network® on Fartemit's hidden wall TV. Buttleg had been warned by Fartemit Owl senior (before he had disappeared) that whenever his son laughed like that, he was to 'drop kick the little mongrel on the butt' to get rid of it. He had a graph showing how many times he had done it every week. On average, he drop kicked Fartemit around fifteen times a week.

Buttleg walked out of Fartemit's room, and approached the laughter. All of the sudden, it stopped. Alarmed, Buttleg dashed into the room, to find Fartemit dehydrated from laughing so hard. He was on the floor, grinning like a buffoon. Even though he wasn't laughing anymore, Buttleg drop kicked the boy anyway, just to emphasize… er… well, something surely.

As Buttleg was about to leave, Fartemit called to him, but since he was dehydrated, Buttleg didn't hear him, and walked out, no doubt to continue watching Baby Looney Toons or whatnot.

* * *

Sorry if that was short. R&R! 


	9. Brolly vs The Mole

Finally, the long awaited next chapter of the Fartemit Owl series! Sorry for the long wait. This is where the story is sort of... different from the original.

To my reviewers:

Sorry, but I can't answer them right now. Maybe later!

* * *

Chapter 8. Brolly vs. the Mole

Brolly stepped out of the 'coffin', shaking like a leaf in a ten-force gale. The relatively short, smooth trip up a completely straight tunnel had shaken Brolly up considerably. _I'd better kick Moley's pink ass to hell when I get back_, thought Brolly. _Wait, I've already kicked him today. Better kick him tomorrow_.

She walked down the stark white aisle, coming to a pair of double doors. There was a ceiling-to-floor mirror next to the doors, and she checked herself before walking out. Satisfied, she pushed open the doors.

To any casual passer-by, they would have seen a young clean-up lady walk out the entrance that said 'Staff Only'. Brolly's uniform matched all the other clean-up organization uniforms, and if you added the trolley, voila!

The door had led to an abandoned, wouldn't-be-surprised-if-ghosts-appeared shopping arcade. Fairy security was good by their standards, but this relied on a very important thing: human stupidity and ignorance. But then again, as some guy said a long time ago, "The 2 most common elements in the Universe are Hydrogen and stupidity", so no problems there. But there had been cases where some curious kids had managed to get pass the double doors. A few decades ago, two kids had managed to get in, in the very shopping arcade Brolly had just emerged into. They saw everything; fairies, gadgets, modes of transport, all the secrets of the fairy people. Fortunately, nobody believed them, but both have become very accomplished fantasy authors (Eoin Colfer being one of them.).

Brolly pushed the trolley (hey, that rhymes!) across the large expanse of shops. However, there was probably no point in wearing the disguise, because the shopping mall had been abandoned fifteen years ago. But the elves didn't know that. All the shop windows had been smashed, the mannequins either naked or stolen or ripped apart, and most of the shop names swinging absurdly on one hinge.

She reached the double doors without much incident (it was only ten metres away from the shuttle port anyway). She stopped, let go of the trolley (which was being pulled back in by some magical invisible chewing gum), and took off the uniform, revealing… a uniform. Boy, wasn't _that _simple.

She walked across to the transparent, red box where the fire hose was contained. She opened it, revealing something else entirely. You see, the inside of the box had been cleverly concealed by a camouflaging effect on the glass pane. Well, to be honest, Moley had just printed a relatively large picture of a fire hose and stuck it on the front, but nobody ever noticed. Either that, or they just didn't care.

Anyway, the inside of the fire hose box was a weird looking, metal-ish looking, and complicated-looking mess. Apparently, this was Moley's latest innovation on one of his other pointless thingies: the jetpack. When she first saw the contraption, Brolly was sceptical: _This thing flies? You've gotta be kidding me. _However, when she had seen Moley test it out, she had to admit that, under control, it could be useful. However, Moley had never actually gotten the hang of it, and ended up in hospital for a few weeks.

Brolly took out the contraption, grabbing a pipe that had nearly fallen off the 'jetpack'. She strapped it on, walked out the door, and pulled a series of cords, pushed a series of buttons, pulled a couple of levers, until finally, it spluttered into life.

'God,' muttered Brolly, 'that took over ten minutes! One of my fastest records, I've got to say.' She then pulled another lever, and soared into the sky, belching black smoke in the rear.

Meanwhile, in the abandoned furniture store, something that was most definitely _not _a rogue mole was chewing, or at least attempting to chew on a chair leg. After staying on the same leg for the past four hours, the thing dressed in cheap, fake bear skin rugs and a Halloween mask hadn't gotten very far.

After a few more minutes, the thing stopped, and whispered into, it seemed, its hand.

'Fake mole calling to retarded genius. Fake mole calling to retarded genius. How much longer?' it whispered, and suddenly, he pulled off the mask to reveal the much more realistic, yet uglier face of Buttleg. That meant that the 'retarded genius' was…

'Demented whiz kid calling to bogus animal, you've got the friggin' code names wrong again! Will you ever learn?' came the reply. The reply was so loud that, not only could Buttleg hear Fartemit's scream in the headphones, he also heard it from inside the small cabinet where his retarded master was hiding. Buttleg knew that, inside that tiny cabinet, there was a whole load of useless junk: a BB gun, a toy gun that made noises, a plastic piece of armour from a medieval knight play set, and a set of walkie-talkies, like Buttleg. Behind his back, Buttleg knew, there was a net used normally to catch butterflies. Buttleg doubted that the net was powerful enough to subdue a 'magical fairy thingy' or whatever.

Suddenly, a tall, female creature with what looked like a fire extinguisher on her back, trailing black smoke, flew threw the window, and smashed into a bed that was placed right by the cabinet that Fartemit was in (or vice versa). She swore, spluttered, tore the 'bloody thing' off, and murmured something about 'kickin' Moley's pink ass when she got back'. Both men were absolutely bewildered, but went along with it anyway.

She got off the bed, and was dusting herself down, when Fartemit, as quietly as he could, opened the cabinet door (Buttleg had half hoped that his master was trapped inside), got out the net, and crept up from behind. Just as he was about to swing the net over her, she stepped forward, seeming to have noticed Buttleg dressed up in rugs. She stared and stared, then finally collapsed laughing. Buttleg felt utterly humiliated. But it gave him some satisfaction that Fartemit had landed on the floor, flat on his face.

* * *

How much _dumber _can they get? (Answer: a whole lot MORE!) 


	10. Title Too Long Just Read It

Hey, hey, hey! The Nerd here, just saying hello from my new boarding school in England! Yes, I am now in the land of the Brits, with fish and chips, beefeaters, pubs, Nelson's Column, Big Ben, all that. Although, technically, I'm nowhere near _any _of them. I'm actually in one of those little villages where the entire school is like, the town. Anyway, Let's Get Rolling!

But first, To My Reviewers:

Dr. F. Roy Dean Schlippe: Thank you, Doctor, for your positive comment. Now go back to your office.

neutralgal: hahahaha, yes, I liked it too. Thanks.

neutralgal: Well, if your sister has a Japanese dictionary, I'm sure she'll be more than happy to let you borrow it. Or maybe...

Death2badwriters: If I'm on your hit list, lady, I am OUT OF HERE!

(Someone from 8M... you'll figu: Just e-mail me and stop dropping hints on my private life! I already have someone doing that for me!

Spectra16: I hope you're a fast reader, 'cause you're seriously lagging behind!

Natasha: Yep. It pretty much will, unless something terrible (like Fartemit dies and is replaced by a six-legged dog called Spong) happens. Enjoy.

Idlyosis Prawn and Kimiyoshi Pixie-chan: I hope that answers your question.

Jamie Love: Info like what? Fartemit's pant size?Buttleg's cuddly toy collection? Pinchalingum's collection of spitwads lined on the walls? Of course not.

Elysium: Yes, the saga should continue per schedule. Rightnow, I _am _in England, but I am far, far away from London.

Jamie Love: I'm both, thanks. Answer: Influence from their parents. Or their butler. Or anybody within sight. Uegghh.

Carmane: Good use? GOOD USE? Maybe.

MR TIRED: U no like, u no read. Understand?

* * *

Chapter 9. Brolly Captured - Smoot Celebrates - Moley Panics Because He'll End Up As A Loner Again

Brolly whipped round, then saw Fartemit, flat on his face, with some net in his hands. His arms were outstretched in front of him, and his legs were bent at a 90 degree angle, making a an 'L' shape on its back. Perhaps L for Loser. Hey, it makes sense! This was too much for Brolly, and collapsed on the floor, wriggling, clutching her sides, tears streaming.

Both Buttleg and Fartemit took the chance, and pounced on her. After three seconds of struggling, with limbs flying and heads being bashed, Buttleg was trapped under the net, Fartemit had two black eyes and were missing some teeth, and worst of all, Brolly was two metres away. With this new development, she practically exploded. She rolled, this way and that, crying her eyes out, clawing at her sides, and there was more than a touch of hysteria in her laughter.

Buttleg and Fartemit gave each other the '_what the fck did you do THAT for?_' look. Then, the '_well?_' look. Then the '_Oh man, this becoming a pain in the as._' look. Or maybe that last wasn't a look, because both men scratched their butts at exactly the same time. They almost looked like chimpanzees looking at a mirror, and while Brolly had calmed sufficiently to press the walkie-talkie option on her watch for the sunglasses, she saw them and immediately collapsed laughing, just as she pressed 'TALK'.

_**Down in ELF Headquarters**, That Place Below Ground… You know… er… wait a mo… oh yeah, **Shaven**_

Moley, this time dressed in a body tight pink stripy vest, and a specially modified pink tutu, with something that looked like a pink shower cap on his head. The cap had bits of glass sticking out of it, which he claimed looked cool in the sun, and also prevented the humans from seeing him completely butt naked. Likely, yeah, I know. But he wore it none the less.

At this particular moment, he was surfing the human Internet, updating his story on under his pen name, Clever Centaur in Pink TuTu (this guy actually exists! I'm not kidding! Click the link! He doesn't have a story, but he exists!), when he heard a blip-bloop-banga-banga-boooooooong! He vaguely recognized it as Brolly's sunglass communicator calling him. He pushed off with his feet from his desk, allowing his specially modified armchair with no wheels to topple over, smashing the pink-loving centaur's head on the especially hardened titanium-polymer-diamond-dung floor.

'D'arnit (Which means an incredibly flexible word in all languages. Just say it out loud)! That would've looked really cool if this was a swivel chair!' moaned the centaur to no one in particular, but hoping someone would hear him and give him a swivel chair. Not surprisingly, it didn't happen. So, grumbling and rubbing his head, he clopped over to the communicator button_s_, and after 5 minutes, initiated contact. He just had time to hear Brolly laughing her head off, when something suddenly covered her head, and made her shut up. Then Moley heard 'D'arnit!' and 'Holy Shmow (the underground equivalent of a cow)!' being uttered. Moley thought nothing of it, until he heard gagging, then the thing stopped transmitting. Then he started getting worried. A little. However, he only considered reporting to Smoot when Brolly still hadn't called in to tell Moley it was a joke. And then he decided against, which was pretty damn stupid.

After two hours, a nap, and some gambling in a nearby casino, and still no call, he finally decided to contact Smoot. But by then, it was too late, wasn't it…

**_Owl Manor/Castle/Mental Asylum_**

After finally getting the net over _Brolly's_ neck, injecting her full of chloroform, Buttleg shrugged off the rugs, and swung Brolly over his shoulders. Fartemit led the way out through a disused a backdoor, and nothing went wrong until Buttleg tripped on an itty-bitty little baby chair, and slammed Brolly on the floor, enabling her to wake up. Thankfully, before she could escape, Fartemit swung something heavy off the floor and onto Brolly's head. It turned out to be Buttleg's head, and Fartemit was left with two unconscious people on the floor. Fartemit didn't have too much trouble shifting Brolly into the trunk of the MINI, but Buttleg's sheer bulk refused to be shifted. So the less-than-half-a-genius resorted to desperate measures. He got a flask out of Buttleg's jacket pocket, wrestled wit open, and poured it down Buttleg's gullet. Little did he know that he pouring sulphuric acid down his butler's throat…

**_Back in ELF Headquarters_**

Smoot burst into Moley's bright pink security cubicle shaped like a giant 4-petalled flower. Moley swung around, clearly surprised to have the big boss in his cubicle.

'Hey, Oggy!' he said, using the name Smoot hated being called, 'what're you doing in here?'

To say the least, Smoot was pissed. And when he was pissed, he usually either disintegrated or electrocuted things, either (respectively) with his **Super Kadooper Banga Banga Boom Boom Blaster Gun Thing Zapper **or his **Thunderstick 2000** (sounds cooler than Brolly's, but still exactly the same). For today, the centaur was lucky, for Smoot chose electrocute, and zapped the pink-wearing centaur a good zap on the rear.

When the centaur came to, he immediately got to action, and at gun point (or maybe thunderstick point… who cares?), explained everything to Smoot. The laughing, the gagging, and his rather eventful night at the casino, where he had experienced a rather interesting feeling with some of the centaur waitresses… ('Say no more!' screamed Moley, 'or I'll disintegrate your head!' Fine.) For the last one, he got another zap from the Thunderstick. But not before he got the name of the casino. Ugghh. Talk about similar perverted thoughts.

After Smoot heard everything, he stayed very silent for a while… or two… And then suddenly, completely against what Moley was expecting, Smoot suddenly jumped up, _yahoo_ing, his face a complete logo of happiness, and he started dancing around the cubicle, singing '_She's gone, she's gone, she's out of my sight at last! Hooray!_' Or something similar. Anyway, the boss man was happy, incredibly happy, especially considering that one of his minor of minor officers was captured. Smoot rushed out, grabbing the celebratory champagne bottle and a lot glasses, and started pouring a glass to anyone within sight. Soon, everyone was drunk.

But at the very, furthest back of Moley's mind, a couple of thoughts swirled around his head: '_If Brolly goes, will I become a loner again?_' Then he thought, '_No wait… I already am. D'arnit._'

* * *

Well did you enjoy that? Especially the one known as MR. TIRED... 


	11. Captured by Owl

I'M BACK! Sort of. Anyway, enjoy. To be honest, this isn't one of my best chapters, but read it anyway.

To my reviewers:

Carmane: Yep, Moley's favourite colour. Pink.

aragon676: Why thank you.

Spectra16: Ah yes, one of my most loyal reviewers. Keep it up, and you may be rewarded with some never-seen-before stuff on Fartemit!

Molly: Yes, thank you. I'm being strangely polite today.

* * *

Chapter 10. – Captured by Owl (YES! A _Short _Chapter Title!)

Brolly woke up, woozy and with a severe headache, just like the hangover she got when she had gone to her cousin's Christmas party. A _very _rough night, if nothing else. She opened her eyes, and managed to tilt her head about 5 degrees to her right. She found that that was the furthest she could go before her head snapped off her head and rolled along the floor, leaving a grisly mess of blood and brains on the floor, while… (Alright. Due to the numbers of readers throwing up and ruining their computers, I will now stop.) What she saw made her want to throw up.

She was in a room decorated with bright florescent pink wallpaper and furniture, with a pink carpet and a pink chandelier giving off a disgusting pink light over the already too-much-pink-oh-I'm-going-to-be-sick room. The bed, although it was nice, and comfortable, was also bright pink, and much too small. In fact, if Brolly _had_ moved her head a degree more, not only would her head have fallen off, but her whole decapitated corpse would have also fallen onto the pink carpet, ruining it forever, as well as the cleaner's life. But then again, the cleaner would have been Buttleg, so maybe that's not such a bad thing… (All fans of Buttleg, please don't kill me.)

'Do you like the room?' asked someone. Unable to whip her head around, she slowly turned her head ten degrees to the left, so she had a view of the other side of the room, where the voice had come from. She found herself looking at a pale, ten year-old human, who was holding a Gameboy in his hand.

'You were out for a long time. I got to Level 67 of Playboy Mansion ®, and I only got this game when we caught you!' said Fartemit. He stood up from a pink beanie chair, and approached. Brolly also noticed that his Gameboy was bright pink.

'Do you like my room?' he asked. 'It took four months. Until then, I lived in the wine cellar, and ended up exhausting this manor's supply of rare wines. Well, that's what father said.

'Anyway, random elf person, I want you to tell me your name, age, status, and all the secrets of the underground world that's not already in the Calendar.'

'Uh, okay,' she said woozily. 'My name is Inspector Number 43 Brolly Tall of the Elementary Lavatory Federation. I'm 147, I live in a cave with twelve other female Inspectors, and… uh… hey, how did you know about the calendar!' She shouted at the last bit, of course.

'I have very reliable sources,' stated Fartemit confidently. 'And one of them is _you_.'

Shock suddenly flooded Brolly's system. _I'm one of this weird-ass kid's _sources, she thought frantically. _How low can I sink? I mean, helping out a kid who plays Playboy Mansion on his Gameboy? Come on, you're not serious._

Fartemit watched with satisfaction. _Hee hee. She thinks that she's been helping me all along. Hee hee. This is clever_, he thought, grinning. _She's hot too. She'll never guess what I did to her while she was unconscious. _(Ahem. Just before you all turn off your computers in disgust, I'd just like to say that if you'd been reading the whole story through, you'd realize that Fartemit is the sort of boy who does these things. Anyway, to teach him a lesson, I'll just kick him in the balls from behind.)

'OWWWWW!' screamed suddenly, as the author kicked him in the balls from behind. The ten year-old pervert fell to the floor, clutching his sacred items, and started wriggling and whimpering. Brolly would have laughed, but instead couldn't, because she had fallen asleep of exhaustion. Just when it was getting good, too.

She awoke again, still in Fartemit's completely and utterly florescent pink room, minus Fartemit and that raging hangover-like-thing. She felt a lot better, and got off the bed. She walked to the door, expecting: (a) the door to be locked; (b) the doorknob booby-trapped or electrified; or (c) an invisible chain tied around her ankle suddenly yanking her back to the bed. But none of these things happened, and she stepped into a beautiful, ornate corridor. Immediately before her was a floor-to-ceiling mirror, giving her a great look of what she looked like right now. _Hmm_, thought Brolly. _I look like a puppy who's just been through a carwash_.

She looked both left and right, and saw seemingly endless corridors, so she chose to go down the left one. However, after two steps, she smashed into a wall. Cunningly, Fartemit had hired a painter to do some perspective painting on the adjacent walls of the door, to make it look like there was an endless stretch of corridor down each side. This way, Brolly couldn't get out. This was one of the cells in the Owl Mental Asylum, which Fartemit had chosen as his room for no apparent reason whatsoever.

Brolly rubbed her nose, picked herself up, and looked at the wall again. Then she walked into it again. Growing more and more frustrated, she head butted it until her head was pretty much flat. But nothing happened.

What she didn't realize was that she was battering the wrong wall. If she had considered battering the mirror instead, she would have eventually broken the two-way glass, also practically cutting her head open with all those bits of glass. Behind it, Buttleg sat behind a bank of computer screens, each showing a different part of the Manor. To his left, where the desk ended, was the two-way glass, which Buttleg kept an eye on most of the time. He wasn't bored, though; he had a wide-screen satellite TV, with his own fridge and food cupboard. He also had a computer with broadband Internet connection. No sir, he wasn't bored. Just asleep.

* * *

If I can fit another chapter in, I will. Visit the Fartemit Owl Forum, and leave some goddamn comments! Oh, and R&R. 


	12. Another title that's WAY too long

I'm back! Amazingly, I managed to update! But you might be just a _tiny _bit disappointed. I know I was. It just didn't come out that well...

* * *

Chapter 11. Operation Get-That-Damn-Useless-Dumbass-of-an-Inspector-Back-By-Happy-Hour

Meanwhile, in ELF Main Headquarters in the underground city of Shaven, a serious party was going on to celebrate the departure of the most useless Inspector the organization had ever seen. Everyone was celebrating, especially Smoot, who had thrown the party in the first place, and had handed out his best cigars to everybody. Yes, everyone was happy. Except a certain pink-loving centaur.

Moley was sitting on his pink swivel chair in his pink office, looking glum. He had a pink martini in his hand, but unlike his usual self of gulping down over five glasses every ten seconds, he hadn't even finished one. He sat, looking glumly at the pink, frosted glass. He felt quite guilty about ignoring Brolly's distress signal, but more so that he had lost all his money at the casino. He wondered what he should do next. _Should I try and save Brolly? She is my one and only friend, after all, _he thought. _But then, she does physically abuse me every day. Maybe she doesn't think of me as much of a friend as I do for her. _He finally took a sip of his martini to help him relax. Then another. And another. Soon, he was too drunk to walk straight, but he could still think straight (to an extent) to decide that he would tell Smoot to save Brolly, with the reason being that… well… you need to hear it, I can't tell you it.

Moley stumbled out of his pink flower-shaped office and swaggered up to Smoot, who was at that moment playing strip poker with the other female officers. He was only wearing a pair of boxers, and the women were looking away with disgust at the tiny bulge that formed on the fabric. He tapped the Chief Inspector on the shoulder, who was also stoned. Smoot turned his head, and spat in the centaur's face. The women took the chance to run away as quickly as possible and soon got involved in another explicit game with much better-looking men than Smoot. Smoot got very upset at this and started crying on Moley's shoulder, while the centaur unsuccessfully tried to wipe his face, but ended up punching the weeping Smoot in the face multiple times. Smoot sat there weeping for a few minutes, and then promptly fell asleep, adding more drool to the centaur's fluorescent pink body-tight work suit. To make sure readers don't ruin their keyboards by vomiting, I won't continue.

Needless to say, when Smoot woke up, in the arms of the centaur, he was seriously hung over. And when he was hung over, he usually a) strangled, b) shouted at, or c) shot people around him. Since he was hung over, he couldn't lift his arms, so he had to settle with b). Which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

'MOLEY! GET THE **BLOODY HELL **OFF MY LAP!' screamed Smoot, in a loudness Smoot hadn't known had existed. On the surface, it was recorded as a minor earthquake in Japan, practically on the other side of the world. Luckily, the land directly above them was a disused apartment store, which just crumbled to pieces. No one cared about that shabby old thing anyway.

While we were talking about earthquakes above ground, below it, now _that _was another thing.

Brolly awoke to much screaming in the Manor. The whole thing seemed to be teetering on the edge of a cliff. The whole building was vibrating dangerously, making huge cracks everywhere. Brolly could hear loads of crashing and banging as expensive antiques, not-so-expensive antiques, and cheap 'antiques' made in Burma fell off walls, tables and toilet seats, smashing to bits. She immediately realized what had happened. _Jeez_, she thought to herself. _Smoot needs a chill pill_.

Suddenly Buttleg burst into the room.

'What have you done, you bloody elf?' he screamed at her, although the scariness was somewhat lost by the fact that he was wearing a pink bathrobe with 'I'M SEXY' written in big, gold letters written all over it, pink bunny slippers, a pink shower cap, and a pink and yellow polka-dot brush. Brolly sat there, speechless, then collapsed in laughter, just like she had done when Fartemit had kidnapped her by fluke. Buttleg went as pink as his bathrobe, and stormed out in a huff, smacking his head on the doorway as he went out. Brolly passed out.

Shaven was a ruin. Completely and utterly destroyed by Smoot's scream.

Smoot gazed upon the damage with pride.

'Not bad for an old bastard like me, eh?' he asked the elf beside him. Captain Troubled Welp was a pathetic thing of a captain. Sure, he was supposed to be one of the best captains in the whole organization, but that was bullsht, invented by himself to create some false dignity. Almost all of the missions he had 'completed' had been secretly done by other officers, usually by bribe. The only one he'd actually done himself concerned a rat in the bathroom. And that one hadn't even been official.

Moley appeared from under the rubble, his body-tight pink clothes absolutely ruined. He was still hung over, which had been helped immensely by having 10 tons of rubble being dumped on his head, and concrete dust being shoved into his windpipe.

'_Smoot, you fcking idiot!_' rasped Moley. '_Look at what you've cough done! You've cough, cough destroyed the one true cough, cough, cough safe place for beings like us cough, cough, cough, cough… _' He suddenly collapsed in fits of coughs. Smoot kicked the hyperventilating centaur off the rubble, causing the centaur to die of hyperventilation (that's a long word in a dumb story). And Smoot laughed. This was fun. Of course, in his deranged, hung-over mind, anything violent was _fun_. He turned to tell this to Captain Welp, but it turned out that he had fainted at the sight of such 'outright violence' (as he later put it). Smoot started hyperventilating too, and they all collapsed in a heap. What a lovely way to end a chapter.

* * *

Indeed. Now r&r to tell me what you thought of it! 


	13. Fartemit's Living Room

Finally. SCHOOL IS OUT 4 DA SUMMER!

Ahem. You've bombarded me with so many reviews, I'm afraid there isn't enough space for me to answer all of 'em. So let's cut to the chase and get on with it!

* * *

Chapter 12. – Fartemit's Living room (Just an Excuse To Break Away From The Plot For A Bit)

After the author had the exhausting job of reviving Moley, making sure Smoot wasn't fired _and _jailed for multiple life sentences thanks to multiple murders, attempted murders, extreme noise pollution, and some charges you just _don't _want to hear about, (deep breath) rebuilding most of the planet's cities and towns, including Shaven, and having a cup of coffee, the story was finally ready to go again. Right then.

Fartemit sat in his… uh… _living room_, drinking coke out of a shoe. He said it made the coke taste better; especially in the shoe of a disease-infested tramp he had found swimming in the underground sewers. He had bought the shoes from the man for about £500,000, due to the tramp convincing Fartemit that the shoes had been hand-made by some weird African witch-doctor with a bladder problem and three extra eyes.

Anyway, there was Fartemit drinking coke out of a tramp's shoe in his… _living room_, when Brolly suddenly burst into the room, saw what the room contained, screamed, and burst out again. Fartemit saw none of this, as he was as high as heaven and beyond. Of course, you must have realized by now that a), the 'coke' I was talking about was half the world's cocaine supply dissolved in a shoeful of vodka, and that b) the _living room_ he was in was practically smothered by… uh… nasty stuff, shall we say.

This was one of Fartemit's favourite pastimes. Apart from some other pastimes, that you, frankly, do _not _want to hear about, trust me. I mean, _I_, the _author_, threw up when these things came up, so how would _you _take it? Huh? _Punk?_

Aaaaanyway, back to the story. This time, Buttleg burst into the… _living room_, screamed an even girlier scream than Brolly, and burst out. However, Fartemit was too busy with the imaginary bubbles he saw rising to the ceiling, which changed colour every time he touched them, and was solid enough to grab and throw. These bubbles were so fascinating to Fartemit that he was able to remain fixed on it for three days straight. After the three days were over, however, he ran out of his coke, and remained in rehab for the rest of the week (which was conveniently placed in Owl Manor right next to the… _living room_.

* * *

That was a bit pointless... 


	14. Part 2 of Chapter 11

It's been a while, hasn't it. During that time, I've seen two movies, bought a tennis raquet, visited the place where Napoleon and Wellington played soldiers, and found out I'll be taking French classes from the 21st till the 28th, every day, ALL DAY. Life is ok, I guess.

Anyway, NEW CHAPTER! Rejoice!

_(A.N. - There's a word of warning further down the page. Make sure you read it, or you might ruin your computer.) _

* * *

Chapter 13. - Operation Get-That-Damn-Useless-Dumbass-of-an-Inspector-Back-By-Happy-Hour Part 2.

Smoot was sitting on his new chair, in his new office, with his feet up on his new desk, doing absolutely nothing. He had forgotten completely about the destruction that he had caused the night before (probably because I mind-wiped him and everyone else in the entire world. Praise me.) This is basically what ELF Chief Inspectors did. Nothing. As some wise-guy once said, _'At the bottom of the pile, people work 24/7, tryin' to cram in as much as they can, while either kissin' ass or stabbin' people in the back. But as you go higher up, you begin to do less and less, do less ass-kissin' and back-stabbin', and if you get to the top, it suddenly becomes the reverse. You try to cram in as little as possible, you get your ass kissed, and if you're unlucky, your back stabbed. Now gimme my money... Hey, we had a deal! You... thud aaaaaaaarrrrrrgghhhh...' (The tape ends there)_

Getting back towhat-there-is left-of-thepoint, as Smoot was folding his 154th paper aeroplane, Moley burst into the office.

'Yo, Oggy!' said the pink-loving centaur as he burst into the office, calling Smoot by the name he detested most. 'I just remembered something!' But before he could continue, he suddenly felt himself falling very, very quickly down a dark, long tunnel. _Oh crap_, he thought. _Smoot uses this thing to get rid of annoying employees. Ohhhhh, crap. _

Meanwhile, Smoot was laughing his head off, mostly due to the fact that he couldn't believe that the centaur had been so stupid. In fact, he was laughing so hard that he fell down the hole too. We'll see them again later. Unfortunately.

* * *

After the incident with the… uh… _living room_, Brolly refused to leave her cell in fear that she would find other things that would bring up her breakfast, lunch and supper of the previous 4 weeks. Because of this, Fartemit believed she was no longer plotting to escape the Manor, and was just lying in the cell doing nothing. However, as usual, he was completely and utterly wrong.

Since he hadn't put any cameras into the cell, he had no idea what she did during her spare time, which Brolly used to her advantage. What she was actually doing was building a tunnel from her cell into the next room, the Owl Manor Control Room (more about it later). However, she could have just walked out her cell, down the corridor, and walked into the control room, which was never locked. But Brolly had a tendency to do everything the hard way, which showed. She was currently using a plastic spoon which she'd received during lunch to eat some cold steak with.

She was about two centimeters towards the wrong direction, when the door slowly opened, and Fartemit walked in. To the casual onlooker, he looked almost undignified (and that was _good _for Fartemit). He was currently wearing a t-shirt with the inscription, "**The Man ↑ - The Legend ↓**", and a pair of jeans with the belt as low as humanly possible on his hips. In his hand he had a syringe with a strange green liquid filled up to the brim.

'Hello, Brolly,' said Fartemit, like the creep he was. 'It's time for your _injection_…'

'What the hell are you on about?' asked Brolly. 'Since _when _did I start getting injections, slimeball?' (A.N. – Slimeball does not refer to the humans like 'mudboy' does in the original series by Eoin Colfer, praise thy socks. It's just Brolly's favourite word. Just so you know.)

Fartemit gave a girly giggle. 'Well, I've been giving you these injections everyday, ever since you came here. Usually when you're asleep, so you don't realize.'

A dreadful truth dawned on Brolly: _That creep has been touching me in strange places when I'm not awake. _She immediately took action by slapping him to the ground and knocking him out in 10 seconds flat. When she was finished, she screamed 'PERVE!' at his unconscious body, and kicked him in his private area. She then returned to trying to dig a hole through the wall into the Control Room. Still in the wrong direction, of course.

_

* * *

(Before we continue, a word of warning: if you feel queasy very easily, or you've just eaten a big meal, do NOT read.)

* * *

_

When Moley eventually reached the end of the tunnel, he was relieved to find a huge pile of something soft and mushy congealing, which cushioned his fall quite a bit. A stench immediately overwhelmed him.

'Uuughhh,' urghed Moley, covering his nose. 'Stinks like Smoot's two year-old underwear! (he refrained from telling us how he knew) Phew! What _is _this stuff anyway?'

That was when the pink-loving centaur realized he was not alone. The soft, squishy, congealing mass that had broken his fall was in fact bodies of either unexpecting or just plain stupid people who had previously fallen down the tunnel. When Moley came to this realization, he immediately threw up on what he thought was the body of a very old elf.

'Oi! What the hell do ya think you're doin'?' said the previously-thought-to-be-dead old elf in a British-thug-accent. Moley was so taken aback that he threw up all over the old elf, again, pissing off the elf further.

Just when the elf was about to attack Moley, Smoot suddenly made his entrance, landing right on the old elf, submerging the poor creature in liquidating bodies (sorry to be so graphic).

'Aaaar..._glub_' was the elf's last word, before he was suffocated by the smell and the bodies. If you're good at reading between the lines, you've probably realized that he has appeared in this chapter already. Guess where…

'MOLEY! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!' screamed the Chief Inspector, before throwing up all over Moley. _Now you know how I felt, you retarded dumbass, _was the last thought of the suffocated old elf as he slowly floated towards heaven, then took a sharp dive downwards into Hell.

_My new pink sweatshirt is absolutely ruined, _thought Moley as he slowly wiped some of Smoot's puke off his face. _I think it's time to end the chapter, I don't think the readers don't want to read about all this disgusting crap. _

And he was right.

* * *

Very soon, I will somehow bring the plot together again! Kind of. Maybe. Umm... 

JUST REVIEW, DAMMIT!


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